


Easily

by Mr_Skurleton



Series: Keeper of Secrets [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Almost porn, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, excerpt, may turn into something else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Skurleton/pseuds/Mr_Skurleton
Summary: Dorian bit his lower lip, took a slow breath and steeled his nerve.“I thought we might… talk.”“Oh?”“Yes. Its all very nice this flirting business.” It was surprisingly easy to slip into the old patterns, to adopt the ‘hunter’s posture’ and begin what was sure to be one hell of a chase. “I am however, not a very nice man.”





	Easily

Lavellan’s quarters were held in storm lit gloom. Empty and with windows thrown wide, inviting errant raindrops in without care yet silent except for the wind and the lightning. No sign of the elf himself at the desk or outside. No shadow of his thin form haunting the narrow mezzanine above the empty four poster bed. 

 

 Perhaps that’s why Dorian’s own footfalls echoed too loud in his ears. Hovering on the last step, mouth dry and a slight tremor running just beneath his skin. He’d been so confident mere seconds ago. So sure that the evening would be lush and pleasurable. Now? Now he crossed over thin carpet with cautious steps and swept fidgeting fingers through perfectly groomed locks. Should he wait? Why had he been so certain the Inquisitor would be up here? A late hour did not guarantee Lavellan would have retired to his rooms and yet…

 

The ladder leading to the mezzanine creaked under his weight and he winced at the sound. Why was his pulse on his tongue? This wasn’t the first time he’d been up here and nothing stirred as he pulled himself up and walked the length of it. Just the same chairs and table he and Lavellan had supped at countless times with charts or books between them.

 

_ ‘Your desk is tiny.’ _

_ ‘The library then?’ _

_ ‘Not enough seating. Why? Are my chairs not comfortable enough for you?’ that grin around the brim of a wine glass, those deep-set eyes freezing his breath in his lungs. _

_ ‘They’ll talk.’ why couldn’t he move past this? Why would this single worry play over and over in his mind. The damage that seeking happiness might do... _

_ ‘Does that bother you?’ _

_ ‘It should bother you. You’re their leader.’ _

_ ‘I have bigger things to worry about.’ _

 

Maybe that’s what it meant be Dalish, to snub what ever humans considered proper. Oh how they might try with their noble finery draped across his slender shoulders and their prophet’s symbol painted across everything he touched. but Dorian knew Lavellan could not be bent to human whims. If the altus was lucky, if the world was not allied against him and if he wasn’t hoping for too much, he’d at least be able to hold the man’s attention for a night. 

 

_ ‘Is my influence undue?’ _

_ ‘Hardly.’ _

_ ‘Overdue then?’ _

_ ‘We’ll see.’ _

 

Always a flirt, always too brief to be certain. Yes, he’d gotten to taste those smirking lips but there had been a half dozen bottles and a long harrowing day behind that one moment. Ferelden beer on Lavellan’s tongue, a rain soaked night so much like the one slowly creeping along the edge of the carpet down below. Dorian took a seat in the chair he always chose. Back turned to the view of a clouded night sky, one foot resting across the opposite knee. It was better when Lavellan was here and he had something to look at. Things had gone so well… why had he made such an ass of himself?

 

_ ‘Kaffas I know what you think and he’s not my friend.’ _

_ A look too sharp, no smile then as pale lips pressed into a thin, hard line. _

 

He couldn’t take the words back. The bazaar had too many eyes watching, too many ears listening and too many mouths waiting to twist any words he might say into daggers aimed at Lavellan’s back. It had been too bright under the sun that day. Lavellan had left him, Bull and Sera at the cafe, some business with a comte that Josephine needed help dealing with. By the time Dorian had worked out the words to explain, Lavellan no longer wanted to talk about it. He’d already told the merchant no,

_ ‘Its settled Dorian, you don’t have to chastise me again.’ _

 

But Lavellan had done it anyway. Somehow, despite Dorian’s protests or perhaps to spite them. The pendant had felt heavy in his hand and Cey had looked too casual leaning against a bookcase and staring out the window.

_ ‘Now I’m indebted to you. I never wanted this.’ _

_ Silence, terrible, distancing silence before words that do not help. ‘I did this for you, not so you’d owe me.’ _

_ ‘That’s the problem.’  _ He’d stood then, holding the very thing he’d wanted and losing what he needed more.  _ ‘A wise person would try to cozy up to someone like you. Get in good with the Inquisitor and be showered with gifts and power.’ _ it had been a point of pride, Dorian never asked for anything personal. It was enough that they were doing good in the world. It was enough that the Venatori were being beaten back. It was enough to spend quiet nights and liquor slick bottles with Lavellan.  _ ‘That’s what they’ll say, that I’m the magister who’s using you.’ _ He’d stopped just in front of Cey, unsure of why his feet had carried him closer when it would only do them both more harm. 

 

Lavellan was unmoved and undaunted, looking up and seeing through him in a way Dorian would never grow accustomed to. A calculated step then, as Cey pushed himself away from the bookcase and stood square with him. He had to stand on tiptoe to negate those three inches Dorian had on him, the altus would have teased him for it on any other day. But Cey’s fingertips were curled along Dorian’s jaw and his lips were stealing words and breath from Dorian’s own. Always gone too quickly, always lingering longer than was good for either of them. They brushed against Dorian’s cheek and stopped next to his ear, a single whisper readied upon them,

_ ‘Then use me Dorian, or are you all talk.’ _

 

But he’d withdrawn after that, allowing for no more discussion. How often was it that Dorian would be left drowning in his thoughts and trying to calm a racing heartbeat? Two days he’d thought about it, finally tracking Lavellan down at Varric’s table in the great hall.

 

_ ‘Have you been to your quarters lately?’  _ Surely he could have thought of a better lead in, one that didn’t have both Varric and Lavellan looking at him quizzically from behind their cards. 

_ ‘Not since I woke up this morning. This is the first time I’ve had a moment to sit all day.’  _ He sat down two cards and pulled replacements from the deck.

_ ‘If you want in you’ll have to wait till the next hand Sparkler. Provided Scarecrow hasn’t lost all his coin by then.’  _ Varric hadn’t commented on the tension in the air though Dorian was certain he could feel it.

_ ‘No no, just came to tell the Herald he might want to check his rooms later, when he gets the chance of course.’  _ How was it that such a large and drafty hall could feel so unbearably hot just then? 

_ ‘I will when I can. Unless it’s more paperwork, in which case you can tell who ever sent it that I’ve unfortunately died.’  _ Lavellan had said it with a straight face but it had earned a chuckle from Varric. Dorian had cut his losses and headed to the baths.

 

That had been what? Seven or so hours ago? Everyone else was sleeping or had at least retired for the evening. Yet here he was, in Cey’s empty rooms thinking to himself and letting worry boil in his gut.

 

That was when he’d heard it, a strange flapping sound followed by a scitter of papers falling to the ground and several clicks. He’d turned immediately to look down, wondering who else had come calling at this hour only to be greeted by a most welcomed sight.

 

“If you had told me you were what was waiting for me up here I would have been back sooner.” Cey said with an even, neutral tone. He was by the desk, shirtless and bent to pick up those pages that had fallen. 

 

“I knocked and you didn’t answer so I suppose I invited myself in. I hope you don’t mind.” Dorian’s voice did not betray him, silky smooth and ever so casual. He was thankful that his knees turning to jelly as he climbed down the ladder wasn’t visible in the darkened room. He made his way over fighting both the urge to leave and to rush forward. Even in such low lightning he could see Lavellan was soaked. Rainwater dripped from his long hair and clung to his bare skin. There was a line of wet footprints from where he stood to the open windows and the balcony beyond.

 

“My door is always open.” Lavellan had tidied his stack of once scattered pages and sat them aside on the desk where a dry shirt and his usual coat lay folded neatly along with the red scarf he always wore. Dorian wondered if he had only just laid them out or if Dorian had simply missed them when he’d entered earlier. 

 

“Let me guess, out enjoying the storm? Should I fetch a towel or something? Surely you have a few up here.”

 

“I was testing something out.”

 

“In this weather?”

 

“A little rain has never stopped me before.” In the end, Lavellan found his own towel, crossing the room to pull one from his wardrobe. Using it first on his face and then on his hair he continued, “so to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

Dorian bit his lower lip, took a slow breath and steeled his nerve.

“I thought we might… talk.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Its all very nice this flirting business.” It was surprisingly easy to slip into the old patterns, to adopt the ‘hunter’s posture’ and begin what was sure to be one hell of a chase. “I am however, not a very nice man.”

 

And yet Cey stood his ground, ever smirking and letting his towel rest over his shoulders so he could watch Dorian’s approach. His eyes were almost unnerving, reflecting the light of the storm outside with a curious glow. No human eyes had ever looked at Dorian like that. It made him shiver and wonder about who considered who prey. 

“Is that so?” 

 

A little nod of his head, Dorian wouldn’t let his nerves be his undoing this time. Even if it were for just a night, even if it was just for pleasure and nothing more. He’d be satisfied, all he needed was permission.

“And as such I have a proposal I think you’ll find amicable.” He’d closed the distance between them and his voice had dropped from silken to sultry. “I suggest we dispense with the chit chat and move on to something more carnal. It will set tongues wagging of course but you don’t seem to care about that...” So terribly close, each inhale filling his lungs with the scent of fresh rain and that unnamed scent he’d come to associate with the elf he now circled. “So tell me, how bad are you willing to be?” He was close enough to brush his own lips against Lavellan’s earlobe, close enough to feel the man tense and shiver. Now all there was to do was wait and try not to hope too hard.

 

“And here I thought you’d never ask.”

Though he’d never admit it, Dorian thrilled to hear Cey’s breath hitch in his throat. Even more so when he leaned back against him, regardless of how wet his skin still was. If all went well they’d both be slick with sweat in a bit anyway.

 

“I like to play hard to get.”  _ ‘I had to be sure you wanted this.’ _

“And now?”  _ ‘I know.’ _

“Consider me gotten.”  _ ‘I’m yours if you’ll have me.’ _

“And yet you have me at a disadvantage.” Lavellan spun slowly in his arms, hands sliding up Dorian’s chest and over his shoulders to run fingertips up along the back of his neck and into his hair. “You still seem to be in possession of your shirt.”

Without thought or urging Dorian’s own arms had encircled the elf’s waist and pulled him close. 

“You’re welcome to remedy that.”

“Oh I plan to.” And quicker than Dorian would have thought possible, Cey’s nimble fingers had left their place tangled in his hair and made short work of the buckles on his robes. Without needing to look the belts were pushed aside with leather and cloth rustling as both were laid down.

“How considerate of you not to toss my clothing across the room.” He didn’t know why he was still talking. Though, was it still considered talking if your lips were pressed down along pale skin? From Lavellan’s own lips to his jaw, along his throat and across his collarbone even though Dorian had to crane his neck down to do so. 

 

“Why not? You look good in them, you look better out of them and I’ll admit the thought did cross my mind.” Perhaps it was breathlessness but Lavellan’s voice had taken on a husky quality that sent Dorian’s pulse skipping. Or maybe that  was due to the fact the elf was steering him steadily towards the bed, removing bits of clothing as they went. 

 

Somewhere along the way a thin leather strip had found it’s way into Lavellan’s hand and a brief burst of adrenaline lit Dorian’s nerves aflame. He had never thought to ask what Dalish courtship and partnering was like. Merely assuming they did things the same way humans did. Had he just bitten off more than he’d be willing to chew? The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed without warning and Dorian sat down hard pulling Lavellan down on top of him. The elf’s hair fell over him as a slightly damp curtain only to be pulled back as Cey made to tie it back with the leather strip.

 

“So that’s what the leather was for.”

“It’ll get in the way otherwise.” Lavellan tied it in place despite missing several strands that fell about his face. He’d already kicked off his pants, soaking wet as they were. Dorian was only mildly disappointed he hadn’t been able to remove them himself. “Why? Disappointed?” Lavellan had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows at Dorian while also straddling his waist and being all but nude. 

 

“Not at all.” Dorian said far too quickly. Fortunately Lavellan was far too distracted with teasing Dorian’s exposed chest to catch it. The movements were careful but hungry, nail tips trailing down across Dorian’s ribs and stopping just shy of the top of his pants. 

 

“You are so unbelievably gorgeous.” Lavellan whispered, eyes shining in the dark and trained on Dorian’s face. Such a raw admission, no walls between them, no masks. Just Lavellan’s hands on his chest and Dorian’s hands gripping Lavellan’s hips. The altus almost didn’t know what to say.

 

“First time you’ve used that one.” When all else fails try to make light, it had to be better then letting Lavellan know how much those words had made Dorian’s chest ache.

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d  want to hear them.” Why was there pain there? Why were Cey’s hands now hovering when Dorian had thought about nothing today except how they would feel against his skin? He’d have to do something about that.

 

With what he hoped was graceful ease Dorian flipped them both. When Cey looked as if he was about to say something Dorian laid a thumb against his lips. When those same lips parted and a quick tongue danced along the tip of Dorian’s thumb he knew he’d made the right call. There was no need for words after that. Dorian slid out of his pants and reached into the pocket before tossing them aside. He’d come prepared of course, and sat the bottle of scented oil on a nearby nightstand. The elf’s lips quirked at him but said nothing as Dorian directed him further up the bed. They’d need the oil in a bit but not just yet, it would be a waste to rush.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story please consider reviewing. It's the only way to beat Fen'Harel.


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